“What does that mean?”
“It means we take the mules and ride out. It means if you make a move to stop us, I’ll kill you.”
The breed was bothered by Kain’s confidence but was still sure enough of himself to stand his ground. Kain waited to see how long it took for the man’s sand to run out. The more bothered he was the better Kain’s chances. The breed was a killer. Kain had seen his kind before; quiet like a snake, but when he struck he meant to kill. How many men had he shot in the back, and how many men had he killed face-to-face?
“Vanessa, you and Henry get the mules.”
Kain heard her turn her horse. The breed’s ink-black eyes darted from him to the girl and back. His nostrils flared, but otherwise he didn’t move a muscle.
“Like hell,” the fat man yelled suddenly.
Vanessa’s horse jumped nervously and squealed when she drew up on the reins. The fat man thought this was his chance; his hand swept down. It was the last thought he would ever have. The buffalo gun boomed. The force of the shot flung him back like a rag doll, and when he landed there was scarcely anything left of his head.
Kain’s gun was out and covering the other two, who stood in flat-footed astonishment, caught that way, unmoving, not wanting to move. The gruesome sight of their companion’s headless torso had taken the fight out of the young one. The skin on his face had turned a pasty yellow.
“Get out of here,” Kain snarled at Vanessa and she went.
John calmly rammed another charge in the buffalo gun, then cocked it and pointed it at the men.
“I’m aready,” he said calmly. “Ya want that I blow ’em to hell, too?”
“It’s up to them,” Kain said matter-of-factly. “If they don’t shuck the guns by the time I count to three, go ahead.”
“I ain’t sure I know past one,” John said innocently.
The men unbuckled their gun belts and let them fall to the ground. The kid seemed to notice for the first time the splatters of the fat man’s blood on his pants. He gagged repeatedly, then bent over and vomited. The dark man seemed unmoved by the grisly sight and kept his eyes on Kain’s face.
“Keep them covered, John, while I collect the guns.” Kain got down out of the saddle, picked up the gun belts and the gun the fat man had dropped. He collected three rifles and bashed them against a tree until the barrels were bent. “You birds will be busy for a while burying your friend, so you won’t need your horses. We’ll borrow them for a spell.” He walked over and cut the horses loose from the line. “Unless you want to join your fat friend, keep a distance between yourselves and those wagons.”
Kain mounted and drove the horses out of the camp ahead of him. John followed slowly, watching the men over his shoulder.
* * *
Primer Tass watched the old wolf with the buffalo gun ride out and congratulated himself on his self-restraint. Unlike the stupid, fat Dutchman, he would live to even the score with the gringos. They would wish they were dead a hundred times before he was through with them. The kid and the Dutchman had both wanted the girl who rode with the old man. He’d have the spunky woman! She was just what he’d always looked for and had known he would find some day. She was fresh and spirited and would fill his days and his nights with excitement.
All his life Tass had taken leavings; leftover clothes, leftover food, leftover, used-up women. His own mother, part Comanche and part Mexican, had been used up by his father, an old white son of a bitch, by the time Tass was old enough to know who he was. But he had fixed the old bastard with a knife in his throat when he’d tried to use him after his mother died. This time it would be different. Someone would get his leavings.
Tass had thought of nothing but the woman since he had seen her. He thought of the way she had warmed him the day before when she sat on her horse and looked just at him, and the way she’d sassed him back. She reminded him of a little wildcat, and he was sure she’d fight like one. He would watch and wait, and when the time was right, he would take her and head for the wild, desolate country in Mexico. On the way he would break her like he would a wild mountain pony. Just thinking about it excited him. He’d tame her with his quirt and fists until she lay naked and willing beneath him, legs and mouth open to welcome him. He would teach her what he wanted her to do, then he’d devour her day and night until he got his fill.
His mind told him to stop thinking about her. Soon, and for as long as he wanted her, the woman would be his. He was in no hurry. It was a long way to Denver or Santa Fe or wherever the woman was going. He would follow slowly, take his revenge on the gringos, then take her.
Chapter Four
Ellie and Mary Ben were waiting at the edge of the camp when Vanessa and Henry rode in with the mules. Mary Ben, shading her eyes with her hand, looked behind them toward the river.
“Mr. Wisner’s all right, Mary Ben.”
“And Mr. DeBolt?” Ellie asked.
“He’s all right, too, Aunt Ellie. Mr. Wisner killed one of them,” Vanessa blurted, still shocked by the sudden violence.
“Killed one? Oh my goodness!”
“Let’s get hitched up, Henry.” Vanessa feigned composure, for she did not want her aunt and cousin to see how unnerved she was. She had seen death many times in her life and had come to accept it for the old, the sick and the injured. But never had she seen such sudden violent death as she had just witnessed.
They were ready to leave camp when John Wisner rode in. He went to his wagon and handed the gun up to Mary Ben, then slid from the horse and hitched him alongside the other horse Mary Ben had backed into the traces. He didn’t offer an explanation for Kain’s absence and Vanessa didn’t ask. When he climbed up on the seat, Vanessa set the team in motion and moved out onto the trail.
The horizon ahead seemed to melt into the sky. Nothing moved except the long grass bending in silver ripples before the wind. Vanessa’s eye swept the country. It was vast, empty and still. They were deep in the prairie, which was broken only by the river to the south of them. It was quiet there. Quiet beyond anything she had imagined.
They were at least three miles from the camp before Ellie brought up the subject of Kain DeBolt. “I wonder where he is?”
“Who?” But Vanessa knew who she meant.
“Mr. DeBolt.”
“He drove off their horses, Ma.” Henry rode beside the wagon on the saddle horse. “He just went in there and told them we were taking the mules. He told me what to do, Ma, and I did it.” There was pride in his voice. “I like him. I hope he comes back. You don’t care if I like him, do you, Van? He got our mules back.”
“Of course not. You’ve got the right to like whoever you want to.”
“I hope he comes back, too. I’m afraid now. I just never imagined it would be like this.” Ellie’s eyes swept the wide horizon ahead and on each side of them. “Just look at all that space, and we’re right in the middle! Anything could happen to us out here and there’s nobody to help.”
“We’ve got Mr. Wisner and Mary Ben. And you’ve got me.” It bewildered Henry to see his mother so worried.
“Yes. I’ve got you and Vanessa. The two of you are my life, and I’m so afraid for you.”
They had been on the trail about an hour when they met a group of horsemen headed for Dodge City. Ellie drew in a frightened breath as they approached and gripped the side of the wagon seat. Vanessa placed the shotgun across her lap and watched them carefully. The men eyed the women curiously, tipped their hats and rode on. Ellie kept looking back as if she expected them to turn and follow. Just before they reached the Cimarron cutoff, they met a wagon filled with hides. The driver snatched his hat from his head when he saw Ellie and pulled his team to the side of the trail so they could pass.
There was no sign of Kain DeBolt.
At noon they stopped to eat, watered the teams and let them graze for an hour, then hitched up and went on. Four horsemen overtook them in the middle of the afternoon. They swung wide of the wagons. Vanessa thought one of
them could have been the young bully she had hit with the shovel back in Dodge City. They were dirty, tough looking men. She was relieved when they went on ahead and soon became a dancing speck on the horizon.
By evening Vanessa was sure it had been the most miserable day they’d spent since leaving Springfield. Most of the time Henry had ridden beside the Wisner wagon. He was enjoying the novelty of having someone new to visit with. Ellie, awash in guilt for being instrumental in bringing Vanessa and Henry into this lawless country, was wrapped in her own thoughts. Vanessa realized how close to death they had all been this morning and wondered if they should turn back or keep going.
Kain DeBolt had been in and out of her thoughts all day. They had exchanged only a few words, yet his face stayed in her thoughts with the memory of his voice. No man had ever disturbed her like that before, and she was irritated by it, fighting the feeling. She understood herself very well, and she was perfectly aware that something had happened that day in Dodge City when she had looked at him. Just what it was she didn’t know, but a connection had been forged between them. Even now, just thinking about it, she was conscious of a strange sensation tingling along her nerves. He had made no effort that day to mask the look of interest in his eyes. It was the look a man gave to a woman he wanted. She had seen that look in the eyes of men before but it had never affected her like the look Kain had given her.
He was different, the kind of man who in the proper clothing would fit in anywhere. There was something that went beyond the handsome darkness of his face, his tawny eyes, his lean strength or the hard, strong maleness of him. The scar across his cheekbone only added to the mystique that surrounded him. He was a doing man, as they said back in Missouri. He had taken an enormous personal risk to get their mules back for them. She wondered if she would ever get the chance to thank him.
* * *
Kain drove the horses a good five miles back down the trail, then stung each one of them on the rump with the whip and sent them galloping off in different directions. He was sure of one thing: it would be many days before the breed and the kid rode those horses.
He was sick. He sagged in the saddle and closed his eyes against the agonizing, gut wrenching pains turning his stomach inside out. The pain hadn’t bothered him much, except for a little gnawing now and then, since he’d left Dodge City, and he had come to believe that whatever had ailed him had passed. Early that morning he had eaten a can of peaches, not wanting to take the time to cook breakfast. The damn peaches could have been tainted, he thought. They sure were not sitting right in his stomach.
He turned his horse to the river and at the end of an animal path he found a maze of boulders and a dense outgrowth of brush. He got off his horse and sat down on a boulder and waited until the pain let up a bit. The warm sun felt good on his back. He sat there, hunched over, and wondered if Vanessa realized she had come to within an inch of getting him killed. His anger at her disregard for his orders had been eating at him all morning. If he had batted an eyelash, the breed would have drawn on him, with the advantage of being on his feet. John Wisner was a trail-wise old wolf, Kain thought. He had known instinctively that John would watch the other two when it seemed the fight would come down to Kain and the breed. Vanessa had set the play in motion and the fat man’s luck ran out.
Thoughts of Vanessa were suddenly driven from his mind as his stomach convulsed again. Kain had never had a serious illness in his life and had always been able to rely on his strength. He was not accustomed to a feeling of weakness and he could do without it now. He had a long way to travel. The pain twisting his vitals caused the sweat to roll from his face and saliva to flood his mouth. He sat very still, breathing hoarsely, fighting the sickness in his stomach.
A jolting pain seized him and doubled him up. He fell to his knees and retched violently. Frightened by the terrible pain, he stayed there, his head hanging, not caring that moans were coming from his lips. When he was finally able to open his eyes, he saw blood mingled with his vomit.
Fear of a different kind seeped into his mind. He remembered the Arizona town where he had been a deputy, and the sheriff who had a cancer in his stomach. He had suffered terribly and vomited blood. Kain broke out in a cold sweat. Christ almighty! Would it be his fate to die a little bit each day, screaming his life away in agony as that man had done? He was frightened now—more frightened than he’d ever been in his life. The last thing he wanted was a long, painful death out here where no one knew him or cared.
Kain sat quietly for a long while, and the gnawing in his stomach lessened to just an uncomfortable feeling. He thought of the doctor in Kansas City who had examined him, left him waiting for fifteen minutes, then invited him into his brand-new office to tell him he had worms and sell him a bottle of worm medicine. Maybe he knew that he had a cancer and just didn’t have the nerve to tell him. No, he thought, it was more than likely the young doctor hadn’t known what ailed him, but thought he had to tell him something in order to collect his fee.
He considered going back East to see another doctor but then thought of the sheriff who had wasted his strength traveling to see every doctor within five hundred miles. Some of the doctors had told him his stomach trouble was caused by drinking alkaline water and a few said that someone was poisoning him. One even said that his kidneys were leaking into his intestines and sold him ten bottles of kidney medicine. Finally, an army doctor told him he had cancer which was eating a hole through his stomach and that there was nothing he or any other doctor could do for him. He was going to die.
Hours passed and Kain became partly reconciled to what was happening to him. He knew with certainty that he would not put himself through the torture the sheriff had endured by going from doctor to doctor. He remembered, with clarity, everything the sheriff had told him about his illness. The symptoms the sheriff described were exactly the same as his own. He wondered how much time he had. Weeks? Months?
He was reasonably sure there would be time to get to Junction City. He would see Cooper and Griffin and do what had to be done about The House, and the land. One thing was sure: he’d see to it that Della or Clayhill wouldn’t get their hands on it.
Della would be glad to know he was no longer rich. The last time he had seen her she had cursed him for not giving her money for a trip to Europe. She said she was going to inherit from Clayhill and would pay him back. He had turned her down because he wanted to sever all ties with his sister. She cared nothing for him. He remembered the pain she had caused their mother from the day she had realized women were different from men. Long ago he had come to the conclusion that Della loved men and what they did to her. She had no scruples, and went about taking what she wanted regardless of whom she hurt in the process.
Kain’s thoughts turned to Vanessa. She awakened something in him that no other woman had ever even stirred—something that left him restless and excited. He remembered the clear, honest way she had looked at him, the graceful movements of her soft body. He liked the proud lift of her chin, liked her blue eyes. There was quality to Vanessa, like a slim and handsome thoroughbred. She was the most feminine woman he’d ever met, yet spunky beyond all reason. Why had he not met such a woman years ago? Now it was too late.
He wondered about Henry and what there was about him that seemed familiar. It was as if he had seen him before, but he knew that was impossible. He had never been in the Springfield area. The boy could be no more than twenty and was what people would consider simpleminded. He was not a half-wit, Kain was sure. He had at least obeyed orders this morning, which was more than his cousin had done. Mrs. Hill and Vanessa had overprotected him until he hadn’t developed to the limits of his abilities. Someone should have taught him how to use the rifle and fight his own battles. No man should suffer the indignity of being beaten to the ground without fighting back.
Hell, he thought, it had been in the back of his mind since he talked to Mrs. Hill that morning to see them to Denver. His plans had been to turn north at the Big Sandy, by
passing Denver and going north to Greeley, then over to Junction City. It was a shorter route, dangerous for a white man because he would pass through the vicinity of Sand Creek where the infamous Colonel Chivington and his troops had slaughtered hundreds of Indians: old men, women and children. But now he would go on to Denver, see a doctor there and get a supply of laudanum to use later on when the pain became unbearable.
Kain was surprised at the peace within him. He had never given much thought to dying, not much thought to living either. He had been in a few tight spots, killed a few men when he had to, and avoided trouble when he could. He never drew down on a man unless his own life was in danger. He was a loner, making a few friends here and there, but never settling in one place long enough to establish roots. Now he wondered at the emptiness of his life. His mother was the only person who had ever loved him, and she had lived for only a short time after she married Adam Clayhill and moved west with him.
Fort Griffin, the young man he had picked up in Santa Fe and trailed with for a couple of years knew him better than anyone else. He supposed that if he loved anyone it was Griff, and maybe Griff loved him in his own way. They were an unlikely pair to team up. Griff was a young, penniless drifter who had come to his aid during a barroom brawl. They had backed out the door side by side and made a run for the mountains with four Mexican desperadoes trailing them. Griff was a wild, tough kid, but lonely and scared beneath his quiet and confident exterior. Then Griff had met Bonnie, a little abused waif with two arms but only one hand. They had married and were so happy it was a real pleasure to watch the two of them together. They were the only two people in the world aside from Cooper Parnell and his wife who would take on the burden of caring for him if he should ask them. But of course he wouldn’t. When the time came and he couldn’t do for himself, he’d end it with his six-shooter.
Dorothy Garlock - [Colorado Wind 03] Page 6
